


No Experiene Required

by HugeAlienPie



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Archery, College Student Clint, Community Centers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 22:13:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6725554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HugeAlienPie/pseuds/HugeAlienPie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sign says, "<em>Archery instructor needed no experiene required.</em>" Clint says, "Oh <em>hell</em> no," spins a U-turn in the middle of the road, and parks across two spots in the lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Experiene Required

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a sign at a community center I drive past several times a week.

When Clint sees the sign, he says, "Oh _hell_ no," spins a U-turn in the middle of the road, and parks across two spots in the lot. The sign is one of those old-fashioned felt boards, white plastic letters held in with tiny pegs. At the top it says, " _Concord Commons Community Center_." Underneath: " _Archery instructor needed no experiene required_."

Clint stomps into the center. The young woman sitting behind the front counter can't be more than 19, long, brown hair held back in a ponytail, dingy beige name tag reading "Kate." She looks somewhat horrified to see him storming her way but puts on her best customer service face and says, "Can I help you?" 

"You in charge here?" Clint demands.

"That would be me," says a voice behind him. Clint turns. "It's okay, Kate," the new guy says, "I've got it." Kate doesn't look convinced, but she also doesn't look like she's about to call the cops, so Clint supposes she trusts this guy, who's probably her boss.

If Clint weren't so full of righteous indignation, he would take more time to appreciate that this guy is kind of exactly his type. Late 20s, light brown hair, and sparkling blue eyes that look like they've seen quite a lot. That's not even getting to the quiet strength in his voice, the way his arms fill out his navy Waverley Parks Department polo shirt, or how he spins a basketball deftly between his hands like it's an extension of his fingers. Pissed off and gruff is suddenly a bigger challenge for Clint than it was ten seconds ago.

"You run this place?" Clint asks, reminding himself of why he's here in the first place, why he was angry enough to turn around and stop in, even though it means getting shit from Nat and Bruce about showing up late for Mack's lunch happy hour (whatever. It's not like he has much to contribute to the conversation besides his usual gripes about Lucky stealing his pizza and how few job opportunities Waverley has for soon-to-be college graduates with mediocre GPAs in kinesiology).

The guy gives a noncommittal head bob, neither yes or no. "Phil Coulson," he says, holding out his ( _oh crap very nice_ ) hand. "I'm the facilities director for Concord Commons and a few other park facilities. I don't know that I actually _run_ anything. It's more like I keep the chaos under a semblance of control. How can I help you?"

"Clint Barton," Clint says, forcing himself to let go of Phil's hand. "I saw your sign out front. About the archery instructor?" 

"Yeah?" Phil asks, a tinge of excitement in his voice that Clint is almost reluctant to quash. 

But, think of the children. "Yeah," Clint says, "and I want to know what you're thinking, saying no experience required! You can't shove a bow and arrow into some noob's hand and expect them to teach archery. Archery is a complex sport. It involves a lot of precision and math. The safety issues alone—"

"You're right."

Clint pauses, thrown. "What?"

"You're absolutely right," Phil says. "About all of it. Believe me. Our liability insurance is expensive enough without adding something like that on top of it."

"Then why—" 

"You may have noticed that the sign actually says, 'No _experiene_ required,'" Phil says. "It's supposed to say ' _teaching_ _experience_.' We need someone who knows archery, but we don't care whether they've ever taught it to anyone else. Or, I should say, we don't have the _budget_ to care about that." He gives a small, self-deprecating laugh that does to terrible things to Clint's resolve. "But we're the Concord Commons Community Center, and, well… we ran out of Cs."

Clint's anger deflates. It's difficult to be mad at someone who can laugh at himself so casually. "Oh," he says and then stands there awkwardly, unsure what else to say.

"What about you?" Phil asks.

"What about me?" Clint asks suspiciously.

"You sound like you know both," Phil says. "Archery and how to teach it."

Clint rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. "Yeah, I've done a little of both." That's all he's willing to say about that for now.

"You gonna be in town, say, mid-June through the end of July?" Phil asks. "The pay's no good, but you set the hours for the class, the kids are great, and the company's not bad." He smiles softly, and Clint's a goner.

"Uh, yeah, I… guess?"  _ What's happening here?_

"Great!" Phil says, way too enthusiastically. He glances at the clock over the reception desk and frowns. "This is normally when we'd go into the office and talk about the instructor contract. But Kate's shift ends in five minutes, and if she's not on that sidewalk by 12:05, her girlfriend will be  in here at 12:06, and we do  _not_ want that."

"Aww, boss-man, you know America loves you," Kate calls, grinning.

"Then God help the ones she hates," Phil grumbles. Clint laughs despite himself, and Phil looks over with a bright smile that takes Clint's breath away. "So what do you say we meet up tomorrow night and go over it. Say, Mack's at eight o'clock?"

Clint bites back a groan. If he walks into Mack's bar two days in a row, Mack will never let him hear the end of it. But that's not Phil's fault. "Sure," he says, forcing a smile. "Sounds good."

"Good," Phil echoes. "It's a date."

"Yeah, it's—oh." Clint blinks, and his smile grows more genuine. "Okay. A date."

 _Never_ hear the end of it. From  _any_ of his friends. But he has a kind-of job and a definitely-date—two areas of his life he's been wanting more  _ experiene_ in. He grins all the way back to the car.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! [Care for a tumbl?](http://hugealienpie.tumblr.com/)


End file.
